Until The Next Time
by BiteMarks
Summary: A passionate Jo/Be oneshot. Language warning.


**Rating:** very NC-17

**WARNING: **Contains coarse language and dark themes.

**Disclaimer: **Definitely not mine, just playing.

**A/N:** _I'm in the middle of a JoBe phase right now, and I wondered what it would be really like, if these two were to act on a mutual attraction, and I decided to explore that in this one-shot. This is a dark and difficult piece, and definitely may not be everyone's cup of tea so I'd prefer people not to read on if they think that sex is all about hearts and flowers. I believe any true (canon) liaison between this pair would be fraught. _

**Until Next Time  
**

"I despise you. You know that, don't you?" Her chest heaves, her breath hot on his face. She's struggling, but only enough to excite them both, spur them on to greater acts of betrayal.

"Not as much as I loathe you. One man at a time is never enough for you, is it Beth?" His voice is low, contemptuous. He grabs her by her shoulders and shoves her against the wall, his face contorted with disdain, and squeezes her upper arms harder than he needs to, pleased by the tiny grimace of pain she tries to mask with an insult.

"God, he's so much better in bed than you."

Even though he knows she doesn't mean it, he's stung, and for a second he genuinely hates her. Then he laughs, a sharp bark full of bitter humour, his sense of superiority never dampened for long.

"He's too hung up on your innocence, your human _fragility_, to fuck you the way you really need - the way you like to be fucked. You come to me because I'm the one who satisfies you, Beth."

And to prove it he grinds the hard bulge of his erection into her hips and is rewarded by a fleeting look of ecstasy, her head tossed back, the creamy column of her throat just begging for the sharp thrill of his bite. She moans, loving the way he makes her feel, hating her weakness, hating him. So this is all her fault then, is it? She pushes, palms flat against his chest, and forces him back a pace.

"You fuck me because you like to _win_, because you need to win to _feel_ something. Well, how does it feel to cuckold your best friend, Josef?" The scorn in her voice strips the flesh from his bones.

He says nothing, hoping she has no idea how much she's wounded him, the cool smirk on his face disguising the spark of anger deep in his gut that only she has the power to evoke. Tonight, by God, she's going to beg for it.

He reaches for her and she slaps his hand away, his lips twisting in a lop-sided smile. That's all right; he likes a challenge, and he knows that whatever else she may say, she needs this game as much as he does. He takes a step closer and her palms push against his shoulders, trying to prevent any further intrusion. He steps forward again, her puny strength no match for him, and his body melts into hers, pressing her backbone into the wooden panelling behind her. She pretends she's not affected by his hard on, but he knows better. His hips begin to undulate in a teasing rhythm, and the thin fabric of her shirt can't hide her arousal, her nipples as sharp as up-ended thumbtacks under the white silk. He can't resist, and rolls one pointy nub between his fingertips.

"_Oh yes._.."

These are the words that always signal the beginning of her surrender. She breathes them like a prayer, and his body suffuses with a dark joy, knowing that once more at least, she is his, and he'll carry the burden of guilt a little longer.

He winds his hands into her hair and tugs sharply, hurting her, forcing her head up until her lips are panting against his. He knows she wants him to kiss her, now and hard, so he makes her wait, trailing his tongue against the sensitive skin of her throat, blowing cool breaths against her throbbing pulse, sucking an earlobe.

She mews with pleasure, soft kittenish sounds that rouse him almost beyond endurance, fully extending his fangs, making him want to screw their rules, be damned and bite her. She's playing a dangerous game; the barely contained violence in his touch excites her, and she teases him, pressing the soft skin of her throat under his fangs, relying on his iron control to maintain the barrier that saves them both from detection, from destruction.

Never one to be submissive for long, she massages his erection through the fine wool of his trousers, and it is her turn to be rewarded, as he closes his eyes to better savour the sensation, pushing into her palms with rhythmic urgency.

"Whore," he murmurs, crushing her against the wall in a bruising kiss. She groans, and tugs at his shirt, pulling the shirt-ends out of his trousers, eager to rake her nails against his skin, run her hand through the fine hair that descends in a dark line from his navel and disappears below his belt. His balls tighten with a sharp ache and he grimaces. It will have to be soon, he doesn't know how much longer he can hold himself back in this dark game they're playing.

His palm burrows under her skirt, and his fingers flutter at her groin, sliding over the smooth silk of her panties. She's wet, her thighs are trembling; she reeks of desire. If his body weren't pressed so firmly against hers, she'd fall. They both know from bitter experience how this is going to end.

"Tell me you want me," he whispers into her hair, his fingers tracing random circles on the lace between her legs.

"Never." Her voice has the ring of sincerity, and he recognises the self-loathing in her tone. She needs to be mastered; her inhibitions overcome, so she can sleep at night, look into Mick's eyes without dying. So he traps both her wrists in the circle of his fist and raises her arms above her head. Her breath is coming in sharp staccato bursts, and they lock eyes, spellbound, exquisite pain clear on both their faces. They're drowning, they both know it, and her eyes plead with him to save her.

Not today. He needs this too much to deny himself today, even if he'll hate himself tomorrow. He lowers his head with agonising slowness until his lips hover barely a hair's breadth above hers. If she wants him she'll have to cross the divide, admit to herself at least, her desire. Her lips part and the tip of his tongue traces the lush outline of her mouth.

"You want me. Tell me you want me," he whispers into her open mouth.

"No," only this time it's a sigh, and as she exhales her body leans forward imperceptibly and her lips meet his in a kiss of searing tenderness. He's right, she does want him, and she hates herself for it. She'll tell him anything, but she'll never tell him that. It's her one concession to Mick, to the love they feel for one another. Instead, she clings to Josef like she's dying and pours herself into the kiss as if it were her last.

"God, Beth."

She exults in the tiny crack in his voice, the small loss of control sending a jolt of electricity straight to her groin. She's gone, she's long past the point of no return now, and they fumble at each other's buttons with a rising sense of urgency, fingers clumsy with desire. She needs this; needs to feel him moving inside her, the pleasure he gives her almost enough consolation to ease her stinging shame.

She gasps as his cool mouth closes over a nipple, his tongue sending shivers down her spine. Her arms tighten about his shoulders, urging him on. If he doesn't fuck her now, she'll die.

Her capitulation excites and arouses him, but needs to hear her say it before he can claim victory. She's right about that. When they've fought like this he needs to feel he's triumphed over her before he can come.

"Please," she murmurs, "_Please_."

That's good enough. A sheaf of folders flys off his desk in a swirl of billowing papers and he lays her down, skirt high around her thighs.

And then there is no space between them at all, he's on top of her, kissing her, sucking first one breast then the other, teasing her nipples between his teeth, his tongue sending wave after wave of fire to her clitoris, revelling in her trembling surrender.

"I hate this," she whispers as she lowers his zipper.

"I know." His palm curls around her cheek, his eyes softening.

When they come together this time its gently, slowly, savouring each second together, knowing that when he is finished, they'll retreat back into their roles, loving partner, best friend, until the next time one of them cracks.

She brushes a stray hair from his forehead, wants to tell him sorry, that it's not him she despises, but herself. He kisses each eyelid, wants to smooth away the pain he knows his harsh words have caused her.

They look deeply into one another's eyes, the world falls away and it's just the two of them, two people in love. This is the moment that torments them during those long nights apart, the one that makes this bitter mess worthwhile. He raises himself on one arm and bites into his bicep, thrusting in time with her cries, and when he's done, he slumps over her, spent, his weight dispelling the sense of unreality that always follows.

"I love you," he says so softly into the nape of her neck she almost misses it.

Of course he does. He'd never risk the relationship most important to him on a whim, but he needs absolution so she says, "I know." She can't bear to return his words yet, doesn't know if her cowardice will ever allow that, so she strokes the back of his head in an almost maternal gesture of comfort.

Afterward, they button themselves back up into their respectable lies, fingers clumsy with guilt this time. If coming together is torture, then leaving is sheer hell.

"Why did you ever kiss me!" she mutters, distraught.

"Why did you let me?"

Their voices, as always, rise in the familiar agony of recrimination. It's too late now, they're trapped, their only hope that they can leave hating each other enough to make the separation tolerable, enough to make their intention never to repeat their betrayal hold fast this time.

She grabs her handbag and rushes to the door, blinded by tears. But he's there, a palm on the door, closing it before it has swung open more than a crack. He stands behind her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching her, willing her not to leave again this way. She stiffens, sighs, and then yields, relaxing back onto the comforting solidity of his chest, but only just for a moment. Then she pulls away, wrenches open the door, and is gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


End file.
